Miscellaneous Mental Musings of an Emerging Artist
One of my co-workers has recently given me a great code-word to toss around. Apparently, one of her bitchier friends is a certain Cynthia Beamer, and as such, she now tells me, when she’s being frustrated by events in the office, that I should watch out, because she’s channeling Cynthia Beamer.
For some reason, I’m also very Cynthia Beamer this morning. Very, very angry. The book’s almost done (although I missed one last tiny mistake that I’m too annoyed to mention to the designer at all), and now we’re quibbling over marketing issues. I’m sick, sick, sick of it.
Also, I’m pissed at the President again, which means that the month’s time after the WTC and Pentagon attacks have brought me back to square one with Dubya. His latest message to the Taliban, offering them a “second chance” to “cough up” Osama bin Laden “and we’ll stop doing what we’re doing to your country” isn’t his usual, mucho macho cowboy rhetoric anymore, it’s actually something more frightening–it’s hostage-taker rhetoric. Meet our demands or we will kill more innocent people.
Oh, we’re not targeting them, or so I’m told. I’m sure that comes as great comfort to know that Afghan civilians are losing their loved ones entirely by accident.
No wonder we’re not dropping enough food into the country. Who knows how many of them will actually be left after we’re done?
I’m hungry and it’s raining. Bitch bitch bitch. Moan moan moan. I am Cynthia Beamer.